3. Chapter 3
Torin
Scotch Whisky
Translation: A spirit produced and matured in Scotland
Usage: To describe whisky that was produced in Scotland and has matured in oak barrels for at least three years there
“Good morning!” a voice booms over the speakers. I look up at the stage and see a tweed-clad man smiling down around the old auditorium.
The crowd murmurs a “good morning” in response.
“Oh we can do better than that, I think,” he says in a clipped Lowland accent. “Good morning!” he repeats, louder this time.
I always cringe when someone insists on doing this, but I join in with the rest of the crowd, loudly if not enthusiastically, to say good morning back so we can get on with it.
Thankfully, the rest of the morning passes without incident. Various administrators provide overviews of the basics: libraries and research centers, technology access and accounts, financial matters, and academic integrity.
The afternoon consists of a series of dull but painless activities, such as campus tours, a lecture on combatting imposter syndrome, and having our photos taken for our university IDs.
Then the only thing left is a welcome reception with our academic departments, which doesn’t start for an hour.
I find a bench in a quiet courtyard and check my messages. There’s one from my sister.
Freya
Good luck today! Proud of you! No matter what other people say about you.
I smile and skip over her insult.
Torin
Thanks, Frey. Almost done with orientation.
Freya
That sounds boring af
Torin
No no, it was a blast seeing the stern look on some administrator’s face when she told us about the zero tolerance policy for academic dishonesty.
Freya
Edinburgh University doesn’t tolerate plagiarism? Groundbreaking…
Torin
I know. How will I ever get my work done if I can’t steal it from someone else?
Freya
Truly, you’ve never been the sharpest pencil in the case… You’ll probably be expelled by Christmas
Torin
Can’t wait.
Freya
But really, you’re brilliant
Freya
Can’t wait to see what you do next
Freya
Love!
Torin
Thanks. Love.
I appreciate Freya’s faith in me, but far more people get PhDs than there are positions available, especially in the humanities.
Focus will be key for the next three years. I can’t afford distractions.
But until classes start, maybe I can afford a little distraction.
I have a habit of scrolling through fit men on Instagram because I’m hoping to get body dysmorphia for my next birthday.
I scroll through images of various fitness influencers and somehow manage not to look up Beau.
I wonder how he’d compare to some of these blokes?
He’d handle himself, I’m sure. The way those biceps flexed, the tone of his abs…
When it’s finally time, I tear my eyes from my phone and head toward the liberal arts complex so I can be early to the reception.
I’ve been to enough of these social occasions that I know to arrive before the crowd gets too big and latch on to an extrovert who can introduce me to others as the event wears on.
I walk into a boardroom with the meeting table pushed against the far wall and the chairs spread out around the perimeter.
A red-headed woman frees a stack of paper cups from its packaging, placing them by the wine and liquor, then adjusts the cheese tray and moves the plates just so.
She turns around looking satisfied, then startles with a yelp when she sees me.
“Christ, you scared me,” she says in a lilting Irish accent.
“Sorry!” I say. “I was just letting you finish before I said anything.”
“No, it’s alright. I’m in a public space. I shouldn’t be surprised to find another person here.” She laughs, but her hand is still pressed to her heart, so I step forward and introduce myself, wanting to put her at ease.
“Maeve,” she says, shaking my hand and seeming to calm. “Nice meeting you, Torin.” She backs toward the table and asks, “You’re joining the history program, yeah?”
“Aye. Do you work for the department, or…”
“No, I’m in the program too. Started last autumn and offered to help out with the reception this year because I couldn’t stand the thought of another event with Jack Daniels anywhere in sight.”
I laugh. “Well, thank you for putting this together with proper Scottish whisky,” I say, awarding myself a battlefield commendation for excellent small talk.
“Proper Irish whiskey, too.” She grins.
I must make a face because she grabs a bottle I haven’t seen before and pours a bit into a cup before shoving it my way. “Here, try this.”
I take the cup, giving it a tentative sniff, but she’s watching expectantly, so I sip—then blink. “Shit, that’s good!”
“Told you,” she says with a smug smile. “Scotland doesn’t have a monopoly on good whiskey.”
“No, but we are damn good at it.”
“Fair. Just don’t make that face again when I mention anything Irish or we’ll have to be mortal enemies, and my list of foes is already so long.”
I laugh again. She’s definitely the extrovert I’d been hoping for. “So, what’s your research focus?” I ask.
“Ah, right to it then, so?” she says with a tilt of her head. “I focus on medieval England and France. I know I shouldn’t like them so much, being that I’m Irish, but I can’t help but be enthralled by the Plantagenets.”
I take another sip and agree. The Plantagenet family ruled England and large swaths of France after William the Conqueror’s line ended, also claiming Wales, Ireland, and Scotland as their own.
“They were a formidable dynasty, to say the least, and that time period is rich with world-changing events.”
“Glad you understand,” she says with a wink. “What about you? What brings you to Edinburgh University?”
“I’m focused on Scottish history, specifically the negative impacts the Union of the Crowns had on Highland culture and life.”
“Well, aren’t you just the flower of Scotland?” she says, giving my arm a little poke.
“It is my honor to claim that title,” I tell her with a small bow, though being called a thistle could be a compliment or an insult, depending on how it’s delivered.
Her eyes flick over my shoulder, and she yells, “Isla!” before rushing past me to greet a woman with long brown hair.
They collide in a hug, Maeve bouncing on the balls of her feet, their voices tumbling over one another as they catch up about their summer and cackle at their ample inside jokes.
Not wanting to intrude on their reunion, I go and pour myself a dram, this time of Scottish whisky.
I take a sip and a deep breath. It’s time to be social.
I turn back, and Maeve waves me over, introducing me to Isla, a PhD candidate. She’s in her third year, which means she’s completed her coursework and is working entirely on her thesis this year.
“Isla is the reason I made it through my first year,” Maeve says with her arm around her friend.
“I wasn’t nearly prepared enough for the Scottish coursework, but she took me under her wing and helped me understand what makes this country so…
” She searches for a word and, after a moment, lands on, “magical.”
“Oh, I didn’t do much,” Isla says. “Just got you drunk when you needed a night off and gave you words of encouragement here and there.”
“You’re just repeating what I said,” Maeve quips back.
Isla and I continue our conversation as Maeve moves to greet the newcomers. I focus on asking questions so I don’t have to talk much.
I’m still chatting with her ten minutes later, digging into her thesis topic on Vikings in Scotland, when I hear Maeve say from somewhere behind me, “Oh, you don’t say! Torin is also a first-year focused on Scottish history! Come meet him!”
I turn and then freeze for the second time that day when I see who Maeve has in tow, someone I was hoping I wouldn’t see again.
Beau’s eyes lock with mine, his expression faltering only briefly as he makes his way toward us.
Maybe I did want to see him. Maybe I manifested this moment with my thoughts about his muscular body.
Maeve must not notice the dazed look on my face because she jumps into introductions.
“Torin, this is Beau. He’s studying Scottish history too! Beau, this is Torin.”
His eyes never leaving mine, his grin less mischievous than before, he extends one of those beautiful hands and says, “Good to see you again.”
We shake, and I manage to mumble, “You too.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize you two already knew each other!” Maeve says excitedly. Her eyes flick between us, observing our faces more closely now. I struggle to plaster on a neutral expression, my eyes shifting to look anywhere but at Beau.
“Yeah,” Beau says warmly, “Torin and I got acquainted this morning. He was very… welcoming.” That amused smile is back, and I want to wipe it from his face with a biting comment, but then my mind clears and I recall why Maeve thought to introduce us.
“Wait, you’re studying Scottish history?” I say.
“I am. That’s why I chose Edinburgh University. If I’m going to do good research on Scotland, I need to be in the country.”
“Why don’t you study American history?” I blurt out before I can stop myself. It comes out far more aggressive than intended, and both Maeve and Isla wince next to me.
Beau doesn’t seem to notice. “Because I grew up learning American history, Texas history, Southern history… I wanted to branch out. I focused on medieval Europe in my master’s and fell in love with Scotland, so here I am.”
“That’s it? You liked reading about us, so you just showed up?
” I know I sound combative, but there’s already a ton of competition for graduate assistantships, research funding, and tenured positions in this field.
Beau’s presence here feels like an imposition, and after everything I lost to James, I’m ready to defend what’s mine.
Maeve glances between us, then says, “We’ll be right back,” as she hauls Isla away.
I’m annoyed Beau’s smile hasn’t faltered. If anything, he seems more delighted than ever that he’s gotten under my skin again. “No, that’s not ‘it,’ as you put it. I have my reasons.”